Page 153 of Trapped Truth

“Ah, Azrael. I should’ve known your loyalty wouldn’t last beyond the first stack of cash.”

“What would you know about loyalty?” Azrael thunders.

“Far more than the likes of you know, boy.”

Icy pinpricks of dread filter down my spine. At first, I found Blaine’s upper-class accent funny. It’s so counter intuitive to everything we know about him and his sordid past. Hearing it on his father is downright chilling.

Expression drawn, Blaine readies himself. “That’s him.”

“Here we go,” Axel mutters.

“Come out, Sabre Security. Claim your prize!”

As we round the final corner to catch up, the sprung trap comes into view. Sure enough, a welcome party awaits, though the muscle I expected to encounter hasn’t materialised. Instead, two individuals await to greet us in front of Azrael.

Nolan Madden hasn’t changed.

Silver-haired, golden skinned and dressed in a fine Italian suit that looks like it was expertly tailored to his cut form, he commands the hallway with authority that cannot be falsified. It permeates the air around him. Even the sharp incline of his chin and fierce glint in his pale green eyes demand respect.

In contrast, the cowering woman kneeling at his feet trembles like a stray leaf caught in a windstorm. She’s paler than a ghost. Chestnut hair spilling free from a messy chignon to dance across the bruises that visibly stain her face. Even her clothing is ripped and blood-stained.

“Son.” Nolan fixes his gaze on Blaine. “You made it home.”

“This isn’t my home,” Blaine hisses back.

“I see your arrogance has not changed.”

“Release her, Father. This fight is between us.”

“My dear, sweet Angela?” Nolan’s laugh is a nasal drone, dripping with derision. “I think not. She remains by my side.”

“Blaine.” Angela peers up through teary eyes. “Please go.”

“No. Not without you!”

“P-P-Please,” she sobs listlessly.

Now at the head of our group, Azrael’s entire posture screams of vicious threat primed to explode and wreak havoc on Nolan Madden’s carefully laid plans. Any doubt I had about his intentions dissipates. He’s a vibrating vestibule of rocket fuel, primed to explode.

“After all these years… the empire I built for you.” Nolan’s lip curls, derisive and caustic. “This is how you repay me.”

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” Blaine hurls back.

“How dare you bring these scumbags into my home and strike me?”

“You destroyed our home,” Hyland seethes through clenched teeth. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Ah, Mr Wesson. How’s the son?”

As Hyland menacingly steps forward, Ember rushes to rest a hand on his bicep, trying to keep him calm. The motion draws Nolan’s attention to her, his sly smile broadening.

“Ah, 768. It’s an honour. We didn’t have the pleasure last time.”

“No, we did not.” She lays on a mocking tone thicker than nectar. “I was too busy slicing your business partner from ear-to-ear. Care for a reenactment?”

“I’m sure you would enjoy that, my dear.”

“Greatly,” she coos.